


Broken Glass

by Naemi



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Drama, Haunting, M/M, Prompt Fic, angsty, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zeke can't quite handle the loneliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [claudia603](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/gifts).



 

The constant drizzle of rain against the window wakes Zeke up. He blinks his unfocused eyes towards the sound. Beyond the curtain line lies the staleness of a new day, and the reflection of something blue.

Growling, Zeke sits up and lights a cigarette. The smoke swirls off into the twilight.

In the kitchen, the coffee maker gargles. The timer has worked since Casey first set it, but today the machine draws and brews but air. Part of Zeke hopes it breaks.

Coughing around the butt of his cigarette, he drags his body out of the room, bare feet making little tapping noises on the linoleum. Maybe they should have gotten that carpet Casey wanted. The one with the black and grey circles. Zeke can't remember why they ended up not buying it, but it probably had to do with some ego trip of his.

He flicks his smoke into the toilet, a habit Casey dislikes. Frankly, he dislikes everything about Zeke that isn't delicate or refined or gentlemanlike. “Just pretend, sometimes, will you?” he says so often, and Zeke tries, he really does, when Casey's around. He isn't, though. The mirror holds no reflection but Zeke's own, doesn't show the familiar glimpse of tousled dark hair and milky skin. No faint laughter is awake this morning; Zeke is alone.

~ ~ ~

The coffee machine didn't break, but it emanates a crisp, burning stench. Zeke unplugs it and throws it out the back door. Its cord catches on the old picnic table; it rolls out of sight. Zeke hoped for it to shatter, but apparently luck isn't with him.

Just as he slams the door shut, Snickers slides around the corner, all arrogant elegance, caramel fur, and a bright meow. She looks up at him. He stares back through the dirty glass. Snickers meows again. Her deep blue eyes nauseate him; he breathes the feeling away.

The cat starts pawing at the door, and Zeke backs off, hand pressed against his mouth to keep his heart from beating right out of him.

“Leave me alone,” he moans into his palm, helpless to the choke and the sting and the cold. The scratching halts; another, pitiful meow strikes his ears. He can't look. He can't listen.

He's scared.

~ ~ ~

Stokely calls three times, but Zeke never answers. She always wants the same thing: to ask how he feels, if he needs something. And maybe she'll lecture him. Becoming a mom really changed her.

Snickers has rolled into a ball on a windowsill. She's soaking wet, but she's not seeking shelter. Instead, she lies in wait. Zeke can feel her stare even through the closed curtains, and he has the irrational fear that she will come for him soon. To do what, he doesn't know.

To distract himself, he turns on some random TV game show. Voices fill the room, and that's really all he needs. Company.

~ ~ ~

“Baby. Wake up.”

Zeke stretches, yawns, and glances at the clock.

“Where have you been?”

“Out,” Casey says vaguely as he sits down on the edge of the couch. “I . . . found something.”

“Like what?”

“Take a guess.”

Zeke props himself up on one elbow, looking at Casey with narrowed eyes. Huffing out a breath, he complains, “How the hell am I supposed to know when I don't have the tiniest hint?” but a grin creeps onto his lips nonetheless. He tilts his head up, demanding a kiss that is denied.

“You can't kiss it better. I know you would if you could. But it's not possible.” Casey speaks slowly, and it's only when he turns to fully face his boyfriend that Zeke notices. His heartbeat stutters. His hand moves on its own volition, tracing the wounds on Casey's neck and up his chin.

“What happened?” Zeke barely whispers. Casey seems to ponder on the question, brows knitted in thought, but just when he opens his mouth to reply, glass shattering in the kitchen steals his attention. His back cracks from the movement; the tendons in his neck issue a snapping sound.

“I gotta go.”

“No. Don't.” Zeke's hand clenches, meaning to grasp Casey's shirt but closing around air instead. “Don't leave me alone.”

But however much he pleads, Casey is gone.

~ ~ ~

The glass shattered that day, dropped by Zeke's own, shaky hands as he got the news. The shards spread all over the floor, and some of them bit into his bare skin. Red wine splashed across the white tiles like Casey's blood must have been splashed over the windshield. The phone crashed only a second later, but Zeke didn't notice.

~ ~ ~

The sound of breaking glass is what rouses Zeke from his nap. Still caught in his dream, he can't tell if it's real. His first thought is Snickers, although that's impossible. Shaking his head slowly, he tries to rid his sleepy mind of the confusion.

He knows how stupid it is to be afraid of the cat, but something about her freaks him out. Not only because she was Casey's, or because she survived the crash nearly unharmed. Not for any valid reason. It's the way she follows him, demands his attention. The way she looks at him with accusation in her eyes. The way—

A grinding sound comes from the kitchen, followed by the clink of glass, and for a painful moment, Zeke believes it must be Casey, but—“Zeke? Are you home?”—it's only Stokes.

“Yeah,” he rasps out. “Did you—did you break something?”

“Not exactly.” Stokely appears in the doorframe, and behind her, soaked caramel fur and icy blue eyes round the corner. “Snickers did.”

Zeke can't talk. He can't even move. A garbled moan leaves his lips.

“Are you okay?” Stokely asks, closing the distance between them to squat down in front of the couch. “Don't you feel well?”

Zeke shakes his head infinitesimally.

“Anything I can do?”

“Yeah. Get her out.”

“Who?”

Zeke's eyes dart towards the cat who sits unmoving, watching him. Stokely turns her head to follow his gaze, frowning.

“Snickers?”

He nods.

“Babe,” she says very softly, her features tightening with concern. “She's just a cat, you know? I promise you, that's all she is.”

“No,” Zeke replies a little too vehemently. “She's . . . He . . .”

“He's gone, Zeke. Casey is gone. And he sure as hell didn't come back to haunt you in the form of your cat.”

“His cat,” Zeke corrects. When Stokely raises her eyebrows, he produces a crooked smile. “That sounds pretty silly, doesn't it?”

“It does,” she agrees amicably.

“Noted.” His smile fades.

“It wasn't your fault, Zeke. It was an accident.”

“I know.”

“Do you believe it, too?”

He stares at her, eyes clouded with sadness. Snickers gives a high-pitched meow.

“I don't know. I really don't know, Stokes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt (Spoiler!): Zeke is haunted by a dead Casey.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Moit, who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> _Feedback is love._


End file.
